


A Thing For Redheads

by VulpusTumultum



Series: Scarlet Kadan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, POV Iron Bull, Slow Build, Timeline, and supporting characters, before adamant, before haramshiral, may contain minor DA:I spoilers, sfw unless you don't like some cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpusTumultum/pseuds/VulpusTumultum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull gets to know his Lavellan boss, and the Ben-Hassrath's ongoing mental assessment of her doesn't stay completely professional in tone.</p><p>Damn redheads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thing For Redheads

Krem could have at least mentioned the Herald of Andraste was a redhead- why did no one think that important in a report? Not even the Ben Hassrath reports he'd gotten had so far given much of a description beyond “Dalish woman, a scout and archer, clan Lavellan,” but there the Inquisition group was, when the Vints had been mown down, and the only Dalish woman in the group was a redhead.

Hair short on the sides, longer on top, like the crest of some bird- though longer than the cut usually allowed in the back, as well- a braid coming from halfway down her scalp, ending almost at her waist. Dangerously long for someone who saw a lot of fights, where an enemy might get the idea to grab it. Scars as well as the Dalish tattoos on her face. Scars on her arms too- defensive injuries from some time in the past. Her armor was no-nonsense, and not entirely matching- like armor she'd picked up here and there, not a set made special. No Inquisition emblems, though some carved wooden animals- Dalish work- had been tied or stitched onto it like little charms. Some kind of amulet on a chain around her neck, but the actual pendant type out of sight under what she wore.

The group with her was small, not the entire scout camp- a stern looking woman in full plate bearing the emblem of the Seekers, so- Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the (late) Divine, a dwarf with some sort of repeating crossbow, a bald elven mage who seemed to just be a bit of background by comparison- (best keep an eye on him). Only the Herald and the dwarf had anything like a smile on their faces, and the dwarf's wasn't as open- his was a merchant's smile. Hers was the smile of someone who'd enjoyed the fight and was still eager for more action. Her calculating stare was someone who'd never really seen a Qunari up close often, if ever, as well as that of a person walking casually into a camp of armed men and women after a fight. She was confident it wasn't a trap, or of her group's ability to deal with it if it was.

 

 _Redheads_.

 

Aislyr Lavellan, liked being called “Scarlet” rather than give her real name, especially to Shem, but still to all appearances willing to be the figurehead of the Inquisition and willing to trust the people she worked with with her life if not her name- or maybe she just didn't like constantly being called by her Clan's name, she certainly didn't seem to miss them, even if she did insist they were contacted so they'd know she was well. Calling her a name that didn't sound elven did put some at their ease, the ones, mostly veterans, who didn't feel comfortable with a Dalish Herald or referring to orders given by one or in one's name. Might have been part of the point, too.

One flaw as a leader being that she sometimes didn't really think about whether others could keep up- often she just took the most direct, vertical path down a slope or cliff, still unused to having teammates who wore heavy plate, or would duck ahead to scout their path without bothering to signal what she was doing. 

But she was good, over all, at leading, when it came to small scouting parties. Good at holding her temper in check, but definitely a woman with a temper, one she maybe feared for some reason. Tried to be polite and figure out the manners needed to make allies, but had a point where she wouldn't bother anymore, and a tendency to complain afterwards. Not fond of sitting around and waiting, preferred meetings to be efficient so that they could be over faster. Almost never even seen sitting down, anywhere, even drank on her feet in the Haven tavern (and seemed able to drink others off their feet, though she wasn't there on anything like a regular basis).

Touchy about some direct questions, clearly keeping some secrets, and some distance. She trusted people around her with her life, but not with who she was or had been.

She looked out for little people, actually cared about whether people were hungry and cold, both soldiers fighting technically in her name, and poor slobs who were getting trampled by crazy mages, fanatic Templars, bandits, and demons...

And she'd definitely ended that last conversation on a flirtatious note. Already, but then, she seemed to like to push at being more outgoing than she was, could be hints of flirt to others, and it all could be more of a cover or joke than serious, one of her own deflections against questions she didn't want to answer, but-

 

_Redheads._

 

Herald Lavellan had gone to the mages first, and there was a feeling of a personal issue against Templars- or possibly she just felt everyone wanted to push her hard to go to them instead- whatever happened and was said in the War Council, she'd announced the trip to Redcliffe with a glint in her eye and a ridgidity to her spine that looked like rebellion.

But also with a list of legitimate reasons why at least investigating the mages before deciding was a good idea, and a story of how the Lord Seeker had behaved in Val Royeaux- mages... were a problem, but a man who sucker punched old ladies, saw huge tears in the sky as not a problem worth cooperating over, and talked about how he was due a glorious destiny while clearly being in tight control of his heavily armed and armored order didn't sound too promising either.

A little too trusting of the pretty Vint in the Chantry and his friend- but she'd danced around making any actual promises like a pro. Even the actual Magister hadn't manipulated her into anything, though he'd been so transparent that if he'd succeeded it should have even embarrassed him.

And that was before finding the skulls and the book in that locked building. That was when she got _angry_ and they started back to Haven at a more grueling pace.

When she was angry, her shoulders went rigid, her strides lengthened, her arms moving more to balance that out, and she looked around more sharply, that long braid of hair whipping rather than merely swinging like a soft pendulum along her back. It was really too long to be anything but a problem in a melee. Easy for an enemy to grab.

Nice to watch though, as it snaked along her spine and swished above that waist and ass, stopped only when her bow was slung in the way.

 

_Redheads._

 

Her voice was coldly steady when she responded to some Council displeasure in the War Room:

 

> “We need allies, not prisoners. We don't have the men or energy to truly babysit, much less jail anyone. This is their chance, and it's a probation, they'd be idiots to not know it- but we aren't the Templars or the Circle or the Chantry, and if we're going to offer a future with changes to anyone, we're going to make the offer to _everyone_.
> 
> “You told me to be a Herald, and didn't tell me to check in with a nursemaid along the way- well I'm Herald-ing, but not going to anymore if the Inquisition would rather have let an _actual Tevinter mage_ take over a nearby base of operations and have an army of mages who, when I talked to them, mostly didn't even want to be his army.
> 
> “Bloody hellfire, we're already heretics, I'm sodding Dalish, and before- yes, someone used weird Tevinter magic and misinformation to trick them- they were the ones who gave us a polite invitation even though they knew we had among our leaders a Seeker, and a Templar who'd been at bloody Kirkwall. They had every reason to think we were another order of Templars or another piece of Chantry that would want them silent and submissive or dead, but they invited us, politely, to talk.
> 
> “Don't tell me that 'Only the Leaders of the Templars' are our problem due to their making piss decisions and other templars are just following orders, and then say every damn mage was to blame for the piss decision their leader made in a panic. Also when pushed by a blood mage who could send me through time. Have I mentioned enough how shit that time was, by the way? Demon armies? Sky one huge hole? I want efficient _allies_ to prevent that. Efficient, _grateful_ , allies. Not sullen, paranoid lackeys. What in your Maker's name do _you_ want?”

First time she'd ever spoken loud enough to be heard easily outside of the War Room, even though she wasn't _quite_ shouting. First time she'd said so much in so short a time, without giving anyone a chance to make a counter point.

The Herald's First Speech, and even though mages were still creepy and not trustworthy, not a bad one. Good to hear in an official manner that she _did_ care for more than just finishing whatever tasks the council pointed her at or something as simple as getting meat or herbs for a bunch of refugees, and that when she took an initiative, she was going to back her decisions.

Not a diplomat's speech, of course, not with all that cussing. Hopefully she hadn't crossed some lines that shouldn't have been crossed, this was still a committee's cause, she wasn't an accepted leader. Maybe not just-a-figurehead now.

Something to smile about, while listening to hear if any replies were as loud.

 

_Redheads._

 

She'd nearly gotten her braid grabbed, the Templars had swarmed so hard, the Boss hadn't been able to stay out of melee like she usually did. Haven was a loss, but she jumped to try saving the people. No arguments, no time wasting, and knowing she was the focus of the attack, no hesitation in being bait- while also no useless offers of trying to be some kind of peaceful sacrifice. It was clear that there was no peaceful end available.

They'd fought their way back to the trebuchet with her, she wouldn't have made it alone, and then she _ordered_ them to leave. That actually stung a bit- no one voiced a complaint, but if any of them didn't feel for at least a moment they should have stayed too, he'd have eaten his axe.

If they ran like hell, they might make it back to the chantry building before that dragon..thing... landed. Might be able to find their way to the tunnels everyone else took. And the Chargers were with those others.

She didn't look to see if they were obeying, her gaze locked on the descending monsters, waiting by the siege engine like she was just a hunter waiting for a ram or a bandit to get within range of her bow, though she didn't have her weapon in hand. It would be pointless.

Her back was to the rest of them, that red braid their last sight of her rather than her pale face, before rounding the corner and having to concentrate on the rubble-strewn path and getting to the building and into the tunnels before the mountain came down.

They nearly didn't make it, but the dwarf scout, Harding, she'd lingered enough behind to yell and direct them where they needed to go- even so, most of the people had gotten far enough down, and the signal must have been launched- that, or the Boss hadn't had more time to wait for it.

Behind them the mountain was coming down, and the chantry, and probably some of these tunnels, so they just kept running,l to catch up with the rest of those who fled.

Damn, he'd just gotten used to really thinking of her as the Boss. Well... she'd been lucky before. Maybe something out there liked redheads too.

 

_Fucking redheads._

_Something out there does like them too._

 

The time between her staggering out of the snow storm, and their arrival to Skyhold had been too busy for anything but orders to move, and then the moving itself. Tired, half-frozen, usually fairly hungry, but morale generally high enough over the miraculous return of the Herald that it was nowhere near the worst forced march he and the Chargers had been on.

Now they had a fortress- a real damn fortress, not a village with hasty defenses. And the Boss was THE Boss. Inquisitor Lavellan.

She'd changed, before even coming back to the camp- possibly more on that march, certainly when most of the camp had started singing at her (nice song, really pretty). He doubted she believed she was a chosen anything, still, but now she seemed more willing to just let others believe it if it made them happy and kept things progressing.

Still sometimes made the weirdest damn decisions about who she was willing to immediately trust, like the spirit kid, but when she was in Skyhold, she was clearly in charge- even if her shoulders were almost always tight, and she didn't visit much with anyone beyond the War Council and what was called now the “Inner Circle”- Solas, Varric, and himself, of course. Vivienne, Blackwall, Sera, Dorian and already Cole.

Uneasy about those last two, though the Vint and the kid were useful and hadn't shown any signs of betrayal yet. And something about Cole did worry her a bit- he noticed she tended to be friendly towards him, but kept on the other side of the group, kept her distance, as if hoping that space meant him less likely to hear what she worried over.

It didn't  _work_ as such- but most of what she seemed to worry about was not being good enough, not liking leading others to danger, about losing control of situations or herself. Not enough information to piece together the weirder bits of what the kid said to her, but she'd lost people before, apparently taken foolish risks that didn't pan out. Whatever it all was, it didn't have her paralyzed, she worked against it.

Out on the road, her shoulders relaxed. She still chatted and wanted to be friends, got annoyed at the same arguments between her companions, laughed at amusing stories and jokes. (Including puns, about time someone else really appreciated them- she even joined in, until everyone else was threatening to desert.)

She'd laughed earlier with the others at the story of how Dalish and some others had helped convince an enemy company that the ruins they'd set up camp in were haunted (using a bag full of raccoons, three nugs, and some rope, no magic involved, _really_ ) but also had kept watching him after the laughter had faded to the comfortable silence of the group moving further down the road.

She still dropped hints and flirted- some of the jokes she told when Cole wasn't in the party were filthy, where _did_ a young Dalish scout from the middle of nowhere learn those things? Some were a bit much for having heard in just random village taverns.

And the Boss still, _still_ , wore her hair too damn long. That braid had gotten longer, actually, the end brushed against her ass more when she walked, he was sure of that. Like a rope made of copper silk. Ready to be grabbed and yanked- damn it was distracting when the sun hit it just right, or when she turned and it swept over her armor, catching against her bow or quiver.

It made his fingers twitch, just like all those little hints that she was hiding things made his horns itch, poking at his curiosity.

 

_Fucking. Redheads._

 

They had killed a fucking **dragon**.

A dragon. Not some little dragonling but a big ass dragon, that had nearly fried them all.

It was the kind of fight to jerk off to on future dull nights- and the dragon itself had been the BEST part but, hell, the way the Boss had gotten three damn arrows into one of its eyes, right after the other when it had been trying to flame him again, one of those moments where everything seemed slowed and focused- that sort of thing stood out in a man's mind.

Damn he loved working for her. Dorian had complained, but she'd just said “It's in the way, it wants to eat us, of course we fight it,” and she'd seemed as lit up by the idea as he was. Almost lit up by the dragon, too. Repeatedly. It hadn't let her stay at long range for the whole fight.

And after? Yeah, that kind of look on her face was something he wanted to see again. She'd had a bruise all down an arm from being slammed by the tail, bloody scrapes on her skin, the dragon's blood splashed all over, and still looked like someone who'd orgasmed once, and would be up for another before the night ended. Didn't rush to use any healing kits either.

Shit, he had wanted to fuck that redhead, right there. He wanted to fuck her now, days later.

But first... they really had to talk.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is probably pretty slow build, and I hope I got the feel right xD I wanted to keep things impersonal until, well, Bull started feeling things more personally, and it's meant to pretty much be a sort of mental journal he keeps up until he's wanting to act more.
> 
> Hope I managed to get that effect rather than just be confusing, and I'd appreciate feedback!
> 
> (also rereaders may spot some edits made, decided I needed to tweak a few things)


End file.
